Coffee and green paint

Sweet baby girl figured out how to make coffee.  Yes, coffee.  She's almost 7.  I suppose she's watched me grind up beans, dump the grounds into the filter, and fill the carafe to the brim with water every single day of her life.  It's probable she knew how to do it by heart.


Anyway, she brewed a pot.  Brought me coffee in bed.  With cream, just like I like it. Presented it on a plate with my favorite Kind dark chocolate-peanut butter bar, along with a handmade note.  "Happy Parents Day!  I love you to the moon and back, momma!"


Parents Day?  Who knew? 


"I saw it on the calendar," she proudly exclaimed.  "It said 'Parents Day.'"  I was stunned and touched.


Meanwhile, she didn't know that I hadn't really slept well.  Not sure why.  But I awoke with a slight irritation, and it stuck all morning.  Not the kind that would push me to snap at the next episode of bad behavior or scream about the mess I stumble upon trying to get to the laundry piles I loathe.


It wasn't the kind of edginess that makes the whole day bad or sends me into a panic.   Just the kind that maybe a lot of mothers have.   A tiny bit of nervousness that wasn't there before kids, since back then we weren't responsible for the lives and well-being of little people.  We didn't have saddled on our shoulders the daily duty of teaching children how to grow up, cope with life, and be decent.   We could always crawl back under the covers whenever life didn't go right. 

Sometimes, the bit of tension robs me of the present moment.  Steals away the gift of savoring the coffee made by a darling little girl on a Sunday morning.  I'm always worrying, thinking "what if," "what next," "now what."

 
This morning, it's definitely there.  I can feel it getting heavier in my chest. Maybe because shortly after the coffee sweetness came the property disputes over $1-store toys no one really cares about.  The tit-for-tat.  The upset.  The hurt feelings.  The cries for "mooooooooooom!' to make it right.


Maybe it's because we are on epic meltdown #2 in 15 hours time. Over what? I can't determine. They'd been gone for a week in the Rocky mountains, and my guess is they were exhausted upon re-entry from vacationland.

 

Maybe because already the heat index is near 100 degrees, and it's not even noon. 

 

But when I saw the green splatter of paint on my kitchen carpet, I felt that anger-adrenaline-grit-my-teeth-and-growl surge through my body.  The step-up from the slight annoyance that began the day. 

Deep breath #1.
 

I had to immediately check myself.


Deep breath #2.


I realized why the paint was there.

Deep breath #3.

It was impossible to be angry.

Deep breath, deep breath.  To the bathroom.  Tears flowing. 

The paint was there because after she made coffee, she painted her hands and feet to stamp the handmade card she gave me. There was no way I could be mad.

The thoughts came fast.  None of the messes matter.  Why the angst each day, why the worry, Dawn?  Why not enjoy every sacred moment with these two amazing angels who love you in ways they can never, ever comprehend?  Angels who teach you that you are able to love in deep and abiding ways you never believed possible.  Who cares if the laundry doesn't get done?  Who cares if you trip over Legos everyday?  Because the fact is, you've been gifted something amazing.  The chance to be their mom. The chance to choose love, not fear, every single moment.    

Pause.

Isn't it true, then, that in the messes, in the paint, in the laundry, in the dishes, in the stains and dirt and tears and needs and cries -- isn't it true that there really is so much love? Right there.  In the middle of it all.